Monday, May 14, 2018

Whingey whine whine

I am mentally and emotionally exhausted. And it has nothing to do with work.

I find my family incredibly taxing at the moment. I am doing all the mental work for this family of three adults living under one roof, and another adult living in another country.

And if I mention how I feel, I am lambasted and put down. So I keep quiet, and spiral deeper into this deep dark hole of feeling alone and unappreciated and overwhelmed. But mostly just unbearably alone. Because, of course, each of them have their own social lives now. I spend my free time doing the admin for running this house, so I don’t really have time for anything extra. Or the emotional capacity for anything, really.

I did complain not too long ago that I am too happy, and that happiness is the muse killer. Maybe this is just what the muse ordered.

Thursday, January 4, 2018

interiore comici

I recently binge-watched The Marvelous Mrs Maisel, and for a brief moment imagined I could also be a stand-up comic. In my head, certainly, I am as funny as she is, and I have these stream of consciousness internal dialogues. But, unlike her, I have zero connection between my inner comic and my mouth. I am thinking that maybe the link between my fingers and comic may be better, so let’s see how that goes.

Of course, my life is too happy and stable at the moment to have much to talk about, but maybe it is also just that I have conditioned myself to simply not say anything? We often do that, we silence ourselves to save ourselves the embarrassment of not being understood. But is that not where the best comedic moments reside, in that moment of confusion where misunderstandings blossom and bloom.

But a happy life is also a muse killer. It is hard to find anguish and angst in a happy life. And it is hard to be funny when there is no angst – after all, the main reason one finds humour is for it to be the antidote to the shittiness surrounding oneself.

Clearly my inner comic does not like to come out at all. Things that have me rolling on the floor of the inner seedy bar just rolls out clumsily through my fingers as it does with my mouth. We will try again. Maybe it is like any muscle, it needs to be pushed and pulled to get into a good shape.

Saturday, January 31, 2015

First step to freedom

It was not long after my 20th birthday that I abruptly left home.

I had a very turbulent relationship with my parents throughout my teens, and spent the previous year staying with mostly my then-boyfriend’s parents, and here and there with other friends. My parents and I reconciled briefly around October, and I was allowed to return home, but early in the new year, not long after my birthday, things erupted again. I can’t even remember the details, really, other than the fact that I called my mother a bitch, or something like that. Actually, it was because I was fiercely independent and highly rebellious.

Needless to say, I was told to leave again.

This time, I decided, I was going to do my own thing. I had pretty much decided, before the previous semester ended, that I was not returning to Uni (and skipped writing some of my exams as a result of this decision) and when I was told to leave again, I was not going to, embarrassingly, stay with the now-ex-boyfriends parents again.

My father had arranged a summer holiday job for me at the mines, which paid pretty well, and my last pay cheque was due. The morning after I was asked to leave, I feigned illness and waited for my family to go to work and school. I packed up all my important belongings (all my music and a couple of pieces of my favourite clothing), scrounged some money from around the house and walked out of my parents house for the last time.

I got to the bottom of our driveway and started walking towards the train station with meaning. I knew it was a good three to four kilometres away, but it was fine. I was wearing my docs and I was leaving home for good.

Our elderly neighbour happened to drive by. She stopped and offered me a lift, obviously believing I was off to visit a friend. No-one would run away from home with so little, right? Kind old lady, she took me all the way to the station.

I bought a train ticket and went all the way to the east rand, where I phoned my boyfriend at the time and told him to come fetch me.

I stayed with him and his mother for two days to clear my head, but knew it wouldn’t last. And anyway, I wanted to make my own rules, so I took up sleeping on a friend’s couch for another couple of days while I figured things out.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

The Harry Potter Studio Tour experience

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If, like me, you enjoy visiting the world of Harry Potter, either in the movies or the books, and you find yourself with an evening to kill in the UK, I highly recommend you plan this evening to kill a little in advance and get yourself some tickets to the Harry Potter Studio Tour experience. And I really do mean plan a little in advance, as the tickets do seem to sell out quite quickly in advance, depending on the time of the year. A general admission ticket is, at the time of writing, £29 for an adult and £21.50 for a child, but I would really suggest spending a little bit extra (£38.95 for an adult or £31.45 for a child) to get the full package that includes a souvenir guide and a digital guide too. We were lucky enough to be driven to the park, but there are public transport options.

The thing to remember is that this is not an amusement park, but a studio tour. It is a tour of the actual studios where (most of) the films were shot. And I think this is amazing. You walk through spaces where the actors walked, and can easily recognise your favourite (and not so favourite) scenes, props, etc. I took a LOT of photos during our extended tour, these are a couple of my favourites in no particular order.

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The tour takes anywhere between 2 and 4 hours, depending on how long you spend looking at things. I could easily have spent an extra couple of hours inside, as there are a couple of exhibitions I feel I may have just glanced over, since I did not take at least 100 pictures from each angle. But then, as a fan, I think no amount of time is enough.

And then, of course, the tour ends in the gift shop, so make sure you take many many many pounds with you as you can buy anything from small fridge magnets to wands and capes, and you really do also want to sample the Butterbeer.

Excellent tour, excellent day out.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Wincanton and the Discworld Emporium

DSCF5469I started reading Terry Pratchet’s Discworld series of books when I was 17, which was a very, very long time ago indeed. And you can say I am something of a fan of his work, so, when I discovered the existence of the Discworld Emporium, I knew I had to make a small journey, you may even almost call it a pilgrimage, to the town of Wincanton in southern Somerset in England.

Wincanton is a little bit of a challenge to get to using only public transport, but not completely impossible, and well worth the effort too. You can take the train through to Templecombe from London Waterloo, and then from there hope to strike it lucky and find a cab to take you the rest of the way, which is between £12 and £15.

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DSCF5467Of course, once we got there, I fell in love with the small town charm and the English country side. And did I mention the Discworld Emporium?

The Discworld books, and the other Pterry works, have formed a large part of my life for a very, very long time, and much of how I see the world is either influenced by the books or reflected in the books. So, going to the town of Wincanton and the Discworld emporium was, for me, a little bit like going to holy ground, a sacred space of sorts.

Despite having been a little bit of a Discworld fan for the better part of 30 years, I haven’t really done the typical fan thing and reached out to other fans, either on the internet or the outernet, nor have I been to conventions or meetups or the like. So meeting the lovely folk at the DE was both overwhelmingly intimidating and a little bit like meeting old friends for the first time. If you are lucky, like I was, to visit on a quiet day, you can spend hours chatting and laughing, mostly laughing. If you are a fan, be sure to take LOTS and LOTS of money, because you will want everything. I spent a good three hours absolutely mesmerised by every nook and cranny of the store, while my patient husband photographed everything – because I was simply too spellbound to take a single photograph.

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And I got a very special shopping bag. You may say it is one of a kind, really.

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If you’re a fan, there is no way you can visit the UK without visiting Wincanton.

After our extensive visit to the Discworld Emporium, we walked around the Parish Church of St Peter and St Paul. Yes, we do have a thing for churches and the like, don’t we?

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We just walked around the outside, really not wanting to intrude, but found some of the old gravestones really interesting.

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The date on this one reads 1826.

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And on this one, it looks like 1865.

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And, of course, no visit to anywhere beautiful would be complete without the obligatory picture of a doorway. I am particularly fond of this doorway.

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